Page 200 of The Surprise Play

I’m about to pull up my notes for my Literary Theory class, which I amloving, when my phone starts buzzing.

I don’t recognize the number and nearly let it go to voicemail, but something stops me.

Swiping my thumb across the screen, I give the person a tentative “Hello?”

“Satch?”

“Um…” I frown, slightly confused because this is not Wily’s voice.

“It’s Zander.” His tone is so serious, I go on immediate alert. “Wily’s on his way to the hospital.”

My stomach bottoms out as I lurch from my seat and gape at the wall. “What happened?”

“A suspected ACL tear.”

“What does that mean?” I plunk back down in my chair, putting the phone on speaker and pulling up a fresh Google search window.

Zander sighs. “Nothing good. Depending on how bad the ligament is damaged, he may need surgery, and then it’s months of recovery.”

A cold chill sweeps through me, my hands freezing over the keys.

“The Scouting Combine,” I rasp. “The draft.”

“I know.” Zander’s voice is so deep, so cut up, it makes me want to cry.

Covering my mouth, I fight that onslaught of emotion.

No. This can’t be happening. It’s Wily’s dream!

He’s going to be destroyed by this. Football means everything to him. He’s been working so hard. He’s?—

“Is there any way you can get to the hospital? I think he could really use your support.”

“Yes, of course.” I sniff, willing myself not to break down as I throw on a coat and shove my feet into my boots.

Zander signs off while I finish getting ready, and I’m soon running out of the building, ordering an Uber, and waiting impatiently for it to arrive.

I try calling Wily, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“I’m so sorry this is happening.” My voice quakes as I leave a garbled message. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m on my way, okay? I’m coming.”

He probably won’t get it.

Shit!

How’s he getting to the hospital?

Is he in an ambulance right now?

What state will I find him in when I arrive?

Worry eats me alive, and by the time the Uber arrives, my stomach feels like it’s settled in my knees. I slip into the back and give the driver a shaky greeting, not even sure how I’m going to converse with him.

Thankfully, the man seems happy to drive in silence, and I scour my phone, looking for every piece of information on ACL tears I can find. It’s not good. It’sreallynot good. I chew on my bottom lip as we weave through town and get caught in a little traffic around Main Street.

The hospital is on the other side of Nolan, and even though it’s considered a small town, I feel like it takes forever to get there.

Finally, we’re pulling up outside, and I thank the Uber driver in a rush before racing into the emergency room.